


Deal with The Devil

by trixwizards



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alive!Lisa, Alucard is A Certified Bottom, But Sypha tops both of them so yeah, Childhood Sweethearts, Daddy Issues, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Give her a crown already, I Don't Even Know, Isaac is savage AF, LOTSA ANGST BABIES BUCKLE UP, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Needy!Alucard bet you didn’t see THAT coming, Polo Player Trevor don't even ask, Polyamory, Rivalry, Sypha is That Bitch, Trevor is uh um A Top, god help me, it came to me in a dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixwizards/pseuds/trixwizards
Summary: Alucard Țepeș has had plenty of hobbies to keep him from dissolving into the histrionic chaos of the world: art, sculpting, a little bit of pottery on the side, literature and pining after an emotionally-unavailable Sypha Belnades who’s as stirring as hope during bleak winters.To take his mind off his lack of luck when it comes to love, he chooses to walk on the path to become a celebrated artist. Everything seems to go well—he’s settled in Paris with a sweet studio, an exhibition to pay the bills, and his bickering pair of clueless friends—Isaac and Hector.Things begin to spiral out of control only when this absolute fool named Trevor Belmont asks him for a rubbish favour and Alucard’s left with hardly a choice but to say yes. He hates everything about him; his seemingly absent care for rudimentary hygiene, his snide remarks, his whole family, his line of work and his… Angelic eyes that dominate his every move. Most importantly, he loathes how unreachable he appears to be.Thanks to Sypha’s lovely timing and his mother’s excellent matchmaking skills, Alucard’s left to deal with a newfound rivalry between Trevor and her, and his feelings for both. Fuck this shit. Someone cut him a bit of slack.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Hector/Isaac Laforeze, Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. Un

"Everything looks beyond wonderful, Adrian,” Complimented Lisa.

Alucard absolutely detested being called "Adrian" in public. There was something so iffy—almost off-putting—about being known as "Adrian" by commoners. He’d found solace  in his alias—Alucard—and the signatures at the corners of his artwork showed precisely that.

Adrian Țepeș was the trust-fund baby of Vlad Dracula Țepeș who was born in the lap of luxury. The name was associated with many expectations, contacts and had no meaning of its own. Alucard Țepeș, however, was the name of a renowned artist and sculptor. It was the title he had chosen for himself.

_ Alucard. _

The plaques below the sculptures, the name scribbled intricately with flaxen-white paint on the corners of canvases, the titles printed outside the exhibition— _ Alucard Țepeș.  _ These walls were anchored with months,  _ nay,  _ years of his hard work. The gallery was set up right outside the Musee du Louvre and had a busy influx of audience swarming inside to catch a glimpse of his finest pieces.

“Mum… Alucard. Not Adrian." He mumbled as his mother linked her arm with his.

" _ Adrian, _ " He concluded that his mother extracted supreme pleasure from his humiliation but he let it slide. It was  _ his  _ big day and even his father couldn’t trample all over it. It was a smooth-sailing event and Alucard was the recipient of numerous compliments. It was overwhelming. And satisfying.

“Well, Alucard, I must say,  _ not bad. _ " Said Isaac. Alucard garnered an eye-roll and broke into a magnanimous smile. Getting a "not bad" from Isaac Laferoze was the equivalent of every,  _ single  _ compliment combined and thrown into a mix. He shook hands with his father’s beloved protégé.

"It's not _ not bad,  _ Isaac. It’s proper amazing." Grumbled Hector. He had his arms interwoven with Isaac’s and a glass full of sherry. His face resembled a puppy full of energy and ready to prance around the room with a wagging tail. The two had an unresolved sexual tension but Isaac was almost a frozen block of ice towards Hector who possessed a fairly sunny disposition.

Even Vlad Dracula Țepeș seemed to have a more exciting personality in front of Isaac. Well, to each their own.

"Tell me, Alucard, is my hearing impaired or do I  _ actually  _ hear an idiot spewing his irrelevant opinions?" Isaac seized his arm from Hector’s bone-crushing grip and snarled at  him.

"No comments."

"Alright, you boys mingle, I think I spot the bartender mixing some Merlot with a cocktail mix. It looks quite appetising. See you," Lisa gave Alucard’s hand a reassuring squeeze and homely kisses to Hector and Isaac on their cheeks before gravitating (hungrily?) towards the bar. It was her "calling", apparently.

"Great… Now I have to make conversation." Isaac disgruntled. Alucard had been globetrotting around with Sypha Belnades—a cheery little thing; a force of nature to be reckoned with; fireworks captured in a bottle; his sweet best-friend—for the past two years in order to gain inspiration from various cultures. Throughout his sightseeing, he’d gravely missed Isaac’s snide remarks and Hector’s smiles.

“Would that be so bad?"

"Hector, I would rather staple my testicles to a sheet of sandpaper than breathe in the same air as you." Alucard drank a little too much of his Sauvignon at Isaac’s lewd comment. A frowning Hector stood lankily, offended by his companion and the lack of an arm to latch onto.

"I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you crack a joke, Laferoze."

“You still haven't, Țepeș." Isaac gestured his gaze behind Alucard. "She’s been drilling a hole in your head for about ten minutes. I think you should check up on her."

Alucard fastened his lip between his teeth as he caught Sypha staring at him with a moue on her lips. Isaac and Hector’s scatty bickering became indistinct noises as he left the spot and walked over to the ticking time-bomb (a shrapnel-sized one) that was Sypha Belnades.

"Took you long enough." She humphed. Although explosive, Sypha’s short stature and cutesy features stole the weight from nearly every situation. She mirrored an agitated kitten as she waited for his response. 

"Someone seemed to miss me a lot." Her pout grew tighter at his sarky answer but it didn’t take her long before she broke into a dazzling smile. She took his hand and dragged him towards a secluded spot behind a syzygial array of sculptures.

She pulled Alucard into a devouring kiss; it dawned upon him as a succinct, perfunctory peck but quickly elevated to a heated make-out session. She marked him with her affection as they slotted their mouths together. Sypha pinned him against the wall and traced the outline of his toned abdomen through the sheer fabric of his shirt. “I missed you so much. It's unbelievable,"

"I figured." He bit back his urge to moan as she worked on his belt. "Phee… We shouldn’t. Not here."

"Sorry, I got all excited. I hadn’t seen you in weeks." Alucard kissed the rosiness of her cheeks and in a pristine tentativeness, entwined their hands together. He breathed in her scent; cinnamon, freshly-picked herbs, and ink.

"I know, baby, I missed you, too."

Maybe not… Best-friends, exactly. Something like that, he supposed. They’d met in  _ Dupont Private Academy _ in France and started as—believe it or not—academic rivals. This notorious friction went on till they achieved their respective  _ baccalauréats _ and transferred into the same college—Oxford. They decided to put an end to these childish games and accept each other’s company and somehow, that company managed to evolve into a, uh, sort of…  _ What should I call it? _ He thought—Fondness? And with the passage of time that was known to heal the deepest of fractures, silly banter cultivated into excessive flirting, the constant hovering into longing gazes and subtle touches into well… Full-on snogging. And progressive levels of snogging.

“Well, you hadn’t texted me so I came to the conclusion that perhaps, Alucard Țepeș might’ve entered a magical realm and the only method of communication left was to send an owl. I was waiting for the owl’s arrival, praying for my lover’s safety,” Sypha announced with a tinge of theatrics. Enveloping all of his six-footedness in the small room of her arms, she steadied herself on her tiptoes and pressed her warmer, softer cheek against his angular jawbone.

“And did the owl arrive?” Asked Alucard with a muted smirk.

“Yes, it did. And with a message, no less! The message said,” Sypha shuffled her non-existent pockets, searching for something trivial. She procured an imaginary piece of paper and cleared her throat, almost luridly to grab his undivided attention. “O Great Sypha Belnades of Spain, ‘tis I, the lover who has sworn fealty to you. This is to apprise you that I am horribly preoccupied with my routine tasks such as wallowing in my bed, wondering whether this exhibition would be a success or not!"

Her azure-coloured irises lit up as soon as she noticed him garner an eye-roll and she burst forth into a series of musical laughter. If it weren’t for Sypha’s lack of interest towards pursuing a relationship, he would’ve confessed the love he harboured for her lopsided smiles and maniacal crackles and…  **Her** . There was hardly a quirk—a habit that she possessed and Alucard didn’t like; there was something so exceptional about the way she scooped out marmalade directly from the jar or how her curls would catch snowflakes during the bleak winters, and let’s not even  _ get started  _ with the partial hand-holding. She would never completely settle her fingers within the spaces of Alucard’s hands, instead, she would hook onto his pinkie. 

_ You’ve got no business being this adorable.  _

Sypha, however, always brushed the topic under the carpet by how a relationship might jeopardise their friendship, but Adrian— _ ahem, Alucard— _ would—as an automatic response—think of how far they’ve already come along. They were swapping bodily fluids and exchanging intellect on almost everything, that too on a regular basis—didn’t that have enough power to scupper their friendship?

"So… You liked the display, I take it?" He didn't want to be a pushover, so he changed the subject. 

"I love it!" She squealed in an unblemished delight. It was something he adored about her—she wasn’t disingenuous or harboured any ulterior motives. She was unapologetically herself. "I love the little details. The gothic decorations that match your artwork, the Contrapassto style to your statues and I did  _ not _ know that you had a penchant for pottery! I was surprised to see those little pots over there!"

"Oh, those aren't for sale. I learnt it recently so I thought we could cut on the whole cost of the exhibition with some homemade décor." Her strawberry-blonde curls bounced with joy as she toyed with the succulents on the windowsill. Alucard approached from the behind and nuzzled into the arch of her neck. "Will you be leaving again?"

He felt the hollow of her throat stir at his question. "Just for another two weeks. Lucky for you, it's Amsterdam. It's close-by, so I'll be home before you know it."

"Promise?" He held out his little-finger for her to hold. For the upcoming week, she would be preoccupied with setting camps in Amsterdam with her grandfather who happened to be a renowned spiritual guru in Europe and the Balkan countries.

"Promise." Alucard tugged down the strap of her dress and settled his forehead on her naked shoulder. Sypha seemed to appreciate the snug and grounding embrace she partook in. She whipped up a smile at the pressure of his whole body on her and the guttural sound of his throat. She threaded a hand through his silken locks and shivered at his purrs.

"I might just sew a voodoo doll for you and cuddle with it. Give it a voice and all the jazz." He growled.

"I won’t be surprised if you do that, baby." She closed her eyes to stay in the moment. "If I had a choice I would’ve stayed. But grandpa says that no one knows him as well as I do. Besides, the yoga sessions need someone as flexible as me. You can vouch for that, can’t you?"

"Well, you’re as stiff as a prude, Belnades. I certainly  _ can _ vouch for your flexibility or lack thereof."

"This is where it stops being sweet, Țepeș." They laughed, filling the despondent corner with some cheer. "Let’s get back, we don’t want the people to think that the artist can’t handle all this success."

Although he didn’t particularly display it, if Sypha Belnades would hold his hand and drag him to the last layer of hell, he would  **_gladly_ ** follow her. No questions asked whatsoever.

She grabbed a glass of Merlot from the fleeting server and made a toast. "Bonjour Paris! Avant que tout le monde ne recommence à regarder, puis-je recevoir des applaudissements pour l'artiste? Alucard Țepeș, everyone!"

The venue thronged with tourists and Parisians alike erupted into a collective moment of appreciation. It should’ve given him a sense of accomplishment; the inauguration of this gallery should’ve been fulfilling but it wasn’t. Alucard’s eyes swept across the hall, searching for a tall, “eldritch horror” of a father, standing in an abandoned corner and clapping for him. Much to his dismay, Vlad Țepeș was nowhere to be seen. 

“Alucard…” Sypha’s soft whisper disconnected him from his thoughts. Her silhouette lingered behind him, attached as if she was a shadow. “Don’t let his absence ruin your mood. Look how far you’ve come, sweetheart.” His lips stretched into a weak smile at the term of endearment— _ and she’s got my heart throbbing again.  _ In times of crisis; those frequent occurrences when the world surrounding him appeared to crumble and tear apart, he would solace in Sypha. This was one of those times. 

She pressed a reassuring kiss behind the shell of his ear and watched him giggle at the sensation. "That toast was a little too much, don’t you think?"

"Certainly not. You deserved every bit of those compliments." Sypha took a colossal swig of her drink and finished all of its contents in one go. “I’ve witnessed you put everything at stake to pursue your dreams, don’t let it all go down the drain. Your father isn’t here because of  _ his _ narrow vision. His presence doesn’t dictate your talent.” 

“I am aware of that. I don’t know why it’s bugging me to such an extent. I need a drink.” She wrapped her fingers around his index as he continued. “I don’t intend to come off as annoying but… I wish you could’ve stayed. I get incredibly lonely without you, Phee.”

Her grip loosened at his words. Something stalled at the tip of her tongue but all she could perceive across her face was a muted apology. “I… get lonely, too. I know that I am always moving and hopping from one place to another but it is what I prefer, Adrian. I don’t like the idea of being  _ rooted.  _ It terrifies me.” She mumbled the latter. Tying her down to some sort of a peg was his worst fear, too. The singular thought made him shudder. She was like a bird, swooping through the skyline with the wind beneath her wings and he couldn’t cage her. It didn’t sit well with him. 

He cupped her cheek that grew warm as he cradled it in his palm. “I am aware. Don’t let me stop you. You’re free to come to me despite your location. You’ll always have a home in me, Sypha.”

“Don’t make me fall for you, Alucard Țepeș.” A film of watery gloss covered her eyes and she dumped her blown-out curls into his chest. With a muffled voice, she managed to let out a sentence. “I hope you know that you’re free to see other people aside from me."

“I… Do. Yes.” He replied, feigning nonchalance. “I—”

"—Sypha!" Lisa Țepeș emerged from absolute  _ thin air.  _ Alucard was certain that if he examined the surveillance footage, he would witness his mother appear from nowhere. "Oh, sweetheart, I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Likewise, Lisa! Care for a drink?"

"Why not? Let's head to the bar. I have some embarrassing stories about Adrian’s baby bootees to share with you."

"…Mum—"  _ And she’s gone. Lovely, innit? _

He navigated through the crowd of people and admired the long queue of customers purchasing the prints of his works. Satisfaction filled him to the brim. He stopped in front of his favourite piece— _ Ophelia.  _ It was an abstract painting that had a melon-coloured centre which seemed to bloom into shades of cobalt. The whole thing was enclosed within the stencil of a woman. The painting was a rendition of Sypha.  _ You lovesick fool. Get a grip.  _

Of course, he never revealed that to her. He presumed that an act of such flamboyance would scare her off. It was his secret—one that was too close to his heart.

"I never quite understood abstract art. Why should I empty my pockets for the lack of purpose in one’s brushstrokes?" A low voice brought his train of thoughts to a screeching halt. The pomposity of this… Man’s tone made Alucard grind his molars.

Next to him stood a man who stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the formally-dressed crowd. His unkempt hair lounged lazily over his forehead as an intense, sapphire-coloured gaze assessed the artwork in front of him. His scrutiny set Alucard’s cheeks on fire—dare he say, but it  _ intimidated  _ him— _ what if he’s some art critic? I should maintain my composure. Inhale. _

“I’m no professional, I’ll be honest,"  _ Exhale.  _ The nerve of this uncivilised bandit! He had the  _ audacity  _ to march inside this gallery only to deliver claptrap? How preposterous!  _ This absolute barbarian, fucking boorish— _ "But this is a bloody scam. The artist seems confused—as if they couldn't pinpoint the vision in their head."

"Alright, that’s quite enough. If constructive criticism isn't the least you can provide me with, then you should kindly  _ fuck off. _ " He supposed he spoke too soon when he’d said that there was little to no such thing that had the power to distress him that day. "Not every sort of art needs to be contained within lines or understood by narrow-minded chaps."

"Hey, no need to put your defences up. It’s just an opinion."

"Well, take your opinion and leave. I don’t need it." Alucard could sense subtle gazes on him. Although he was threatening this brute in a subdued volume, his expressions were of pure ire. His corrugated brows quickly relaxed as he stretched his lips into a sickly-sweet smile. It was haunting.

"A greeting would have sufficed. Something like…  _ Hmm,  _ a ‘hello’? A  _ ‘bonjour _ ’ like the locals?  _ Bonjour, je suis Trevor. _ " Said Trevor with his hands flailing in surrender. Alucard contained his contempt; he withstood this temptation to thrash this  _ arsehole _ and put him his  _ fucking  _ place.

_ Today has to be perfect. Today has to be perfect.  _ The mantra kept on repeating in his head as he regained his cool. "Well, Trevor, with all due respect, why don’t you take a walk outside? Since nothing here seems to catch your eye."

" _ Monsieur Țepeș,  _ I’m afraid… Something  _ has,  _ interestingly enough, caught my eye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Thank you for wasting your time on this Lil Poop Stain available on the internet. I don't even have a plan, I'm just going with the flow because I am stupid and obsessed with three people who don't even exist. I'm such a freak, sue me. Take away my gadgets!!!!! I wrote this because a) I'm writing an original novel but I'm suffering from writer's block, b) I couldn't let down @chocobokei, @weve-got-science-2 and @weaponscomplex on Tumblr who were sweet enough to give me some motivation. Also, if you want the translation for the French text, just go on the fucking internet, dude. Just kidding. Might as well do that.
> 
> The baccalauréat - often known in France colloquially as the bac, is a French national academic qualification that students can obtain at the completion of their secondary education (at the end of the lycée) by meeting certain requirements. (Source: Wikipedia)
> 
> "Bonjour Paris! Avant que tout le monde ne recommence à regarder, puis-je recevoir des applaudissements pour l'artiste? Alucard Țepeș, everyone!" - Good day, Paris! Before y'all go back to checking stuff out, can we get a round of applause for the artist? Rest is in fucking English.
> 
> "Bonjour!" - Shame on you for not knowing this.
> 
> "Je suis Trevor" - Hi I am Trevor and I never fuckin' learnt how to read! Just kidding. It means "I am Trevor"
> 
> Monsieur Țepeș - Mister Țepeș
> 
> See you, uh, whenever the Gods choose to grant me motivation and time. Peace!


	2. Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Trevor Belmont, what was it that caught your eye at my exhibition yesterday?” The question was loaded, and it caught him off-guard. He threaded a callous hand through his hair and tried to navigate through his earthbound focus. Trevor had given up on social graces ages ago and he was, well, a lonely man, who only got interrogated by his nosy mother—who wouldn’t shut up about his lousy eating pattern. Perhaps, it was a bad idea to have him around for breakfast. 

After one painstakingly long midday, Alucard, alongside his two roommates, Isaac and Hector, hit the gay clubs in North Marais.

The remainder of the exhibition had been a lovely affair; he’d managed to attract quite a number of customers, and behemoth paychecks—but that’s less thrilling, he supposed. He’d steamrolled over _that bloody idiot_ —what’s his name again?—Thomas? Timothée? Trevor. Right. An abhorrently plain title that suited him perfectly. 

There were worse things than an idiot’s comments in life, after all. Watching Sypha Belnades bid farewell while she boarded the train to Amsterdam could be categorised as one of those ‘worse things’. 

He’d often bring her to North Marais. She enjoyed the assorted collection of sweets at the Kosher bakeries that lined up the narrow streets. She would often buy packets of rugelach, babkas and biscotti and afterwards complain about the devastating stomach-aches she would be subjected to. _That girl._

He glimpsed at his wristwatch—she would’ve reached by now. Cloudy Novembers were common in Amsterdam, and Alucard had a veritably vivid imagination; he conjured an image of her in those tiny pair of wellies, splashing in puddles—because she was a toddler at heart—and sheltering herself under that bright, yellow-coloured umbrella she impulsively bought when they were touring in Northeastern India. It was a shop in Sikkim, he remembered distinctly. 

Alucard was sitting in a sequestered corner of the bar, despondent while swirling a glass of… Some cocktail of Hector’s choice—which was terrible. Its taste was something so similar to the odour of cat litter. Isaac was positioned next to him, and he was preoccupied with his duty as a chaperone for Hector. “He’s like an overripe, rabid dog. That boozehound.”

“You mean our Hector? Oh, yes. Perfectly described.” Alucard scoffed at Isaac’s observation. Hector was gyrating to some pop song with one of the pole-dancers and shouting the wrong lyrics at the crowd that appeared to hype him up. “Life without him would be quite dull, no?”

“Marry him, then,” Isaac grumbled, his eyes fixated on their third companion. 

“And take your place as his soulmate? God, no. I’m not cruel.” Alucard searched for something—a little smile, a hint of joy, anything—on Isaac’s face but to no avail. He was a slab of concrete, that man. His gaze followed Isaac’s; a besotted Hector had _now_ upstaged the pole-dancer and was at a drink’s distance from performing a full-blown striptease. He coughed at the bitter taste of his drink, “Aren’t we supposed to… You know, ask him to behave normally?”

“Oh, no. You see that bloke over there?” Isaac pointed at a security guard who was recording Hector’s randy moves. “I paid €500 to film him. Once this goes to the HR, they’ll have him kicked out.” 

“Seriously, Isaac?”

“Well, he’ll be warned. Your father… He has a soft spot for him. He believes in ‘investing in people’, whatever that means.” Isaac’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk and—then it faded. Vanished. Hector had regained some of his senses—that Alucard didn’t know existed in the first place!—and began walking towards them. “What is he doing? I’m not wasting my money on this—”

“— _Ladssssss!_ ” An extremely rat-arsed Hector slurred and dropped next to Alucard. “Alucard? Have I told you that you’re, like, _sooooooo_ pretty? Are you a pwincess? Can I be your animal companion?”

“Why, thank you, Hector.” Alucard suppressed a hearty laugh at his flattering remark. 

“—Wait… Oops! Isaac, I gotta relieve myself! I need to _sssssssssss!_ Pee incoming!” Isaac grabbed his—uh, well, it was certainly an interesting pair of briefs—boxers that had a caricature of a Kawaii Corgi drawn on the bulging crotch. Alucard sipped a little too much of his cocktail. “Stop! Your fingers are touching my bum!” 

“If I’m not back in another twenty minutes, assume that I’ve killed him.” Said Isaac before dragging him towards the bathroom whilst muttering a soliloquy consisting only of swears. 

Sharing an apartment with Isaac and Hector had proven to be entertaining on several occasions. From Isaac’s icy exterior to periodically thrashing Hector with a loaf of hardened baguette—it added a touch of spice to his rather mundane life. Most importantly, Sypha loved their company, too. She would always deem Hector as a ‘ _brilliantly hot mess_ ’, considering his tendency to attract trouble wherever he went; he would manage to stumble upon the air, stub his toe with practically anything and end up in bizarre situations.

She would often fall about at his misadventures. Sypha laughed loudly, tearily and wholeheartedly—and when tickled, she would squeal in delight and go all red. _What a sweetheart._ It was as if everything cycled back to her; things began with her, and with accordance to some, twisted rules of the universe, went back to her. He could see her in anything: she was the crackle during a bonfire, the sour-sweetness of a strawberry and the sensation of drunkenness after a kiss. She was everything but his. 

Spitfires can’t be contained, after all. 

He needed a drink. Preferably something strong. 

Alucard carded a hand through his miraculously golden hair and got himself whiskey on the rocks, abandoning whatever that piss-flavoured disaster was. Usually, he was quite careful with his alcohol intake, he wasn’t exactly a ‘lightweight’ but he had his fair share of experiences when he’d wake up in a completely different setting, scantily clad, of course. But that night, he was in the mood to test his limits. It was perhaps the success of his exhibition or something absolutely unrelated, that led him to chug one, two, three…

Alucard was not quite a dancer. Lisa Țepeș had enrolled him into those wretched ballroom classes to fix his posture and all but that’s it. It started off as slight bobbing of the head to the music but with the increase of tempo, he could feel his feet being swept away. It was liberating. This was good. 

He didn’t want to think for a while. 

* * *

  
  


The morning was a hazy dream, and the duvets were warm, comforting Egyptian fabrics that were carefully draped over his body. But it was the pounding headache that stirred Alucard awake, and the invasive sunshine. 

“God… Isaac, how much did I—” As expected, an intoxicated Alucard would often gain this ability to teleport himself. He scanned the interior of this room: glorious, French-styled windows with striped awnings, a walk-in closet, an exquisite chandelier that hung overhead and what was this heavy, mewling body between his legs?

A cat! 

The white-furred feline examined this foreigner with calculative, blue-coloured eyes that stared at him before she purred in acceptance. She nuzzled into the jut of his abdomen, licking his forearm. “Aren’t you the prettiest? I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’ll have to leave—

“—Sophie? _Il est temps pour le petit-déjeuner, mon ange_ .” Alucard’s head shot up at this strangely familiar voice. _Oh, no._ He immediately became aware of his nakedness as he recognised—“Looks like someone has decided to wake up. Coffee or tea?”

“A question.”

Trevor picked up his cat and cradled it in his arms. “Ask away,” He said, distractedly, wiping gravel off Sophie’s paws. “Where’d you get all this dirt from, baby?” 

“Did we have sex?” Alucard gulped. He lifted the layers of duvets and sighed at the sight of intact underwear which wasn’t besmirched with wetness. The sheets weren’t soiled, either. Yet, the possibility seemed to bother him. 

  
  


“Yes, I love you, so much.” 

  
  


“What?!”

“I was talking to Sophie.” The cat cuddled into Trevor’s sufficiently broad chest. “And, _no,_ we did not have sex because uh, you were severely drunk and I like my partners like my least preferred state of mind: sober.” 

“Oh, thank God,” Alucard mumbled, squinting his eyes to absorb his surroundings. _Thank God. Not._ Trevor was certainly quite attractive; he had tousled, hickory-coloured hair, a sturdy, chiselled jaw with a five o'clock scruff and riptides encased in his pupils. He blinked. “Uh, is this your sick way of making me feel bad about yesterday?” 

He averted his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand. His cheeks were unbearably warm. “Well, I did take a moment for introspection, reflected on my actions and realised that I might’ve come across as an arsehole. Which, I apologise for. But nah, I didn’t plan on making you feel like crap or whatever.” 

_You kind of did._ Alucard was ready to ditch this personal bias at this point but then again, his head still had remnants of liquor in it. “Anyway, the water’s still hot. I think you can hop in for a shower and we can continue this conversation over some breakfast.” 

“What makes you think I want to continue this conversation?”

“That.” Trevor pointed at the tented sheets and left. 

* * *

  
  


Trevor liked mornings. 

Lazy mornings. Daylight. Yellow of the sun. The sizzle of bacon on a well-oiled pan and the whistle of his kettle. And sometimes, someone to warm his bedsheets. 

Don’t take him wrong, though. He preferred his own company; he _chose_ to mind his own business. He didn’t like parties or strobing, polychromatic lights that triggered his vertigo, but for some _inane reason,_ or as his mother, Sonia Belmont called it, “the scheming of fate”, he ended up at a gay club. He laughed. Internally, of course.

When he’d walked into the bar, he only had one goal in his mind: _get. Drunk._ Not bring a staggeringly attractive, tall, blond home. At least, not the one who probably had his name scribbled on his hit-list. But he was not the one to complain. Sophie stared at him with her big, innocent, blue-coloured eyes. 

“Go ahead. Hiss at me. I’m an idiot.” He slung the dishcloth over his shoulder and smiled at Sophie who pawed his forearm, reassuring him that _well, there are bigger idiots than you._ He tossed the poached egg and threw in some herbs. 

“Thank you for letting me shower at your place, uh—”

“Belmont. Trevor Belmont.” It sounded rather grand. 

“Just splendid.” He could sense the tension in Alucard’s shoulders. There was a rift between their families since time immemorial, and knowing both the parties, Trevor was certain that the feud would remain for another eternity. Or two. 

He emptied the contents of his pan on two plates and added a shot of vodka to his cup of tea. “It’s not a problem. Slept well?”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Alright. It’s a problem. I hope you slept terribly. Please tell me you burnt off some skin while showering,”

“Much better.” Alucard fixed himself on the barstools, obscuring the paths of sunlight. Typically, Trevor would’ve minded it—he liked basking in the warmth of the sunrise—but through his eyes, he’d taken a form of Apollo. He was emanating beams of golden-coloured heat. “I am sorry for all the hassle. I’m quite shocked that Isaac decided to leave me all by myself.” 

“He didn’t. I offered help. Your other friend—”

“—Hector.” He added.

“Yes, that one, he was terribly drunk and Serial Killer Guy—”

“—Isaac.”

“Right. He was trying to stop him from vulgarly shaking his butt. I said that I’ll take care of you and he replied with an ‘ _I’ll dye your pubes if you try to get handsy with him_ ’. I’m still shaken up from the trauma.” Alucard giggled at that. He had a positively sweet-sounding giggle, it made Trevor’s head go a bit woozy. _Very cute, indeed._

He saved the part where Alucard slurred and spilt his secrets in the car for later. For now, he focused on how _gorgeous_ he looked in the clothes he’d lent him. It was one of his white linens—one that’d stretch across his chest when Trevor wore it—but on Alucard, they hung loosely, sliding off his shoulders. “Thank you for not taking advantage of me last night, Belmont.”

“I might be a complete dick, Țepeș, but I don't treat people like a bunch of holes.”

“It’s very uncharacteristic of me to drink without restraints, I’ve had bad experiences in the past, so I couldn’t help but… Be grateful.” He tucked a long, pale-blonde lock behind his ear and looked away. Trevor noticed that his eyelashes cast shadows. “That’s why I was surprised that Isaac left me. He usually stays.”

“If you don’t mind, may I ask what happened?”

“I got cornered by some sketchy guy and he nearly… Before Isaac entered the men’s room. It was horrible and I’m glad I don’t remember most of it.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I did not expect you to have a cat. Definitely _not_ on the list of things I supposed you’d do.” He smiled at Alucard’s grip over the mug; he held it with both the hands and blew off the steam. Trevor had seen Sophie at an adoption centre and almost instantly _knew_ she belonged to him; she gave him a purpose to wake up. It was always easier for Trevor to do things for others, anyway. 

“And what was on those list of things?” He pinned his elbows on the countertop and caught a whiff of the musky, masculine cologne from the clothes Alucard wore. It was his cologne. _Did he…? It’s probably just the clothes._

“Listens to songs from the 80s, drinks away his sorrows, showers with those 3-in-1 bottles.” 

“You _saw_ my Old Spice bottle.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I guessed it right. Also, did you make those?” Alucard pointed at the landscapes of Nordic fjords and Sicilian sceneries, portraits of Sophie and a collection of pop-art. 

“Was art on your list, too?”

“Nope. Not at all. You told me you weren’t a professional but these… They are lovely.” 

“I’m not a professional. I like doing a little bit of everything, I guess. Besides, Sophie is too photogenic, I couldn’t resist.” His dimples crinkled as he searched for his cat. 

“Trevor Belmont, what was it that caught your eye at my exhibition yesterday?” The question was loaded, and it caught him off-guard. He threaded a callous hand through his hair and tried to navigate through his earthbound focus. Trevor had given up on social graces _ages_ ago and he was, well, a lonely man, who only got interrogated by his nosy mother—who wouldn’t shut up about his lousy eating pattern. _Perhaps, it was a bad idea to have him around for breakfast._

“A sweet, blonde thing. I am faint of heart so I decided to park my car and rush into your gallery.” He feigned nonchalance. 

“Oh? Who was it?” Alucard was biting his cuticles, there was a rush of blood colouring his cheeks and _there’s something different_ —he just couldn’t pinpoint _what._

“Braided blonde hair, blue eyes in a tight, red dress. Ring a bell?” Trevor had immediately gained a liking for that woman when he’d discovered her going through a rigamarole while trying nearly every cocktail from the bar’s menu. She was a woman after his own heart. _Besides_ , older women possessed an unrivalled charm. 

“That’s… That’s my mother.” Alucard’s lips curled into the mildest of sneers. He almost came off as disappointed. 

“On second thought, the bar also caught my eye.” Trevor’s tongue hid laughter, burying it deep before it could escape his lips. 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“The ladies call me irresistible, actually.” He haughtily smirked at his guest’s scowl, “Now that I think of it, you look a lot like your mum. Maybe you could borrow that dress—”

“—I’m leaving.” 

“Alright, I’ll stop! I couldn’t help it. Anyway, I’ve got a little favour to ask from you.”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m sorry! It was very funny—the look on your face.” That controlled laughter somehow managed to do a runner. He didn’t miss out on his furtive leer; something in Trevor Belmont told him that he’d welcome this absolutely alluring smile more frequently in the near future. 

“I’m certain that a broken nose would look very funny on your face, too, _Belmont._ ” Alucard rolled his eyes, “Speak up.” 

“Mhm. My mother, well, she's a bit of a crackhead. We have a tradition of the Belmont children being painted next to their fathers. Mine just got knocked out. Last summer, it was. All I have is a bunch of pictures and videos, I think of him, that can be used as a reference. I can, however, come to your studio for that live painting thing, whatever it’s called.” 

“So you want me to paint a portrait of you and your dead father?”

“Yeah. I’ll pay you well.”

“I don’t care about the money, and no—”

“I think you wanted to slap a cheque of money on your father’s face to prove him that you’re not some lowly, depressed and gay artist.” Alucard appeared terribly startled at his statement. The gold of his irises burst into life, brows cocking, calculating and processing the words. 

“I’m only one of those things. Secondly, how did you know that?!” 

“You put some alcohol into your system and you start vomiting your secrets. That’s how.” In a drunken stupor, he’d disclosed humiliating instances—the one time he consumed mouldy pasta, thinking it was pesto—a wet dream about Hector, and then he’d proceeded onto weeping about his father. How he’d been the sweetest, most caring person during the course of his childhood and later evolved into the antagonist from a coming-of-age movie—“ _my father acts like seaweed-flavoured mayonnaise. Bitter as fuck. I haven’t even tasted it but I can guess that’s what it tastes like,_ ”, he’d said—but mostly, he spoke about a girl. _Sylvia. Saliva. Sypha._

_Sypha._ That. 

“Fuck.” It was absurd to hear him swear. Something about his teeth, Trevor noticed. His canines were slightly sharper, _jagged_ than usual and when he sneered, once again, they almost resembled a pair of fangs. 

He shrugged it off. _Right. A vampire._ “It’s a win-win situation. Please?” 

“But you’re such a good artist. Why don’t you make it yourself?” He could’ve. He could’ve picked up a flat-brush and shuffled through the cellar for his oils, but he didn’t. He liked painting things that sparked positivity and a tad bit of _joie de vivre—_ the absolute opposite of his father. He never went out of his way to cultivate a relationship with him when he was alive, why do it now, when he was six-feet-deep underground, merrily rolling with his other ancestors? It barely made any sense. 

Gathering his thoughts, Trevor rep(lied), “I don’t make hyper-realistic stuff and my mother hates my art, so. Yeah. There’s that.” 

“I’ll have to think about it. I already have lots of commissioned work stockpiled.” Alucard avoided his gaze and swirled the contents of his mug. The sleeves of Trevor’s button-up were a little too long for him and they stretched out like sweater-paws over his lithe fingers. 

“I can understand. I hope you consider my offer.”

“Aren’t you the cutest?” 

“Mhm, thank you,” Trevor blinked in surprise. 

  
“I was talking to Sophie.” _Cockblocked by my beloved. Just splendid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I start rambling, let me welcome you to French 101:  
> \- 'Sophie? Il est temps pour le petit-déjeuner, mon ange' - Sophie, it's time for breakfast, my angel
> 
> Y'all this chapter was so trashy I don't even know why it took me so long to post it. Fun fact: Sophie's name was inspired by Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle. Hehe. Next chapter will probably be from Sypha's POV because I miss her too much. This is for @newbeginningsforever (on Tumblr) who asked me 'what caught Trevor's eye', well, you've got your answer and I bet you did not expect that. Also! Another fun fact! That weird, lovesick description of Sypha made by Alucard actually consisted of my feelings for her. Sypha, if you happen to be real and if you do stumble upon this, give me a sign, I really love you. Uhm, I also, uh, made a playlist? It's full of songs from different languages, lmao - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0u6EzA2gvECvf5Bk30uRlz?si=rRBm3yqjTEmPEcRljVp3jQ (check it out!)


	3. Trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor could see Sonia’s delight rise, and instantly simmer down in a second. “Dating? Who?!” 
> 
> Trevor swivelled on his heels and pointed at Alucard. “Him.”

“Get off me, get off me this instant!”

Sypha quickly retreated and bundled the comforter over her chest. Something was eerily strange, that noon. “Sorry! Your uh, boob was suffocating me,” 

“If you have to make an excuse,” Carmilla said, pointedly, “then at least leave me boobs out of it. You know it’s a sensitive subject for me,” 

She swung her pale, svelte legs off the mattress and cast for some _Gauloises._ This was bad; this was the recipe for a disaster! The invasive interrogation, the handcuffs, the smoke rings—she was _not_ prepared! Whatever shall she do? Sypha browsed through her options; she could make a run for it? Surely! But Carmilla had longer, more athletic legs and a bone-crushing grip. She could… Act dead? Maybe the fright building within her gave her a cardiac—

“It’s the ginger twinkie, isn’t it?” Carmilla blew some smoke. 

Coughing, Sypha discerned that she had no method left to avoid this confrontation. “It’s… He’s blond, Millie,”

“ _Hah!_ That was a trick question.” 

“Are you gonna interrogate me while doing the cop-criminal roleplay?” Sypha toyed with her voluminous, unbound curls, much to Carmilla’s chagrin. That unctuous voice and those doe-shaped eyes weren’t going to help her out of this situation, _anyway,_ but what was the harm in trying?

_Smack!_

Okay, so maybe there _was_ some harm in trying. “Is this all you think about? Kinky sex?”

“No, I do think about good, fulfilling, vanilla sex, too, sometimes. _Some_ times. Also, _ow,_ that hurt!” Sypha rubbed her thigh, where Carmilla had thwarted her roughly, and grunted. She stared at her in revolt. Sypha believed that she was nothing short of an absolute empress, who deserved to be treated such as one, so it was natural for her to _abhor_ Carmilla’s tendency to boss her around. 

“What excuse did you come up with this time? ‘My grandpa has a grudge against blonds so… I cannae date you’,'' Although Sypha’s face contorted into a wince, she was astonished at Carmilla’s spot-on impression of hers. “Or is it the timeless classic _,_ ‘I am afraid of staying in the same place and spending my life without seeing every dumpster in the world,’” She narrated. A cloud of smoke encircled her as she draped her cotton robe around her body. 

“You make me sound pathetic.” Groaned a pouting Sypha. Okay. These two did not have a ‘ _thing_ ’ going on. Sypha had met Carmilla at a bar in Scotland, where she’d (barbarically) butchered a chap with a severe bite on the neck—in her defence, he had groped her—and they’d called an ambulance. It was then when Sypha Belnades knew that she’d finally found a worthy opponent. 

Carmilla was aromantic but thoroughly enjoyed the platonic relationship she shared with Sypha, and the occasional sex. She was easy to talk to and certainly quick to love; a warm layer of marshmallows in a cup of cocoa—Carmilla always thought. But it seemed to her that Sypha preferred being a comically oblivious _eejit_ most of the time. 

Sypha had been head over heels for Alucard Țepeș since… Since, uh? Well, Carmilla didn’t know the figures but it was surely a little over some thousand _aeons._ Due to her fabulously colossal ego during school, she couldn’t bring herself to accept that she was in love with him and later, the fear of jeopardising a relationship began to gnaw her inwardly. And now… Now that fear had clutched her too tightly. 

“Because that’s how you sound.”

“It’s not an excuse! You know grandpa needs me. I can’t just give up everything and move back to Paris.” Sypha looked at her bedfellow as if she had gone mental.

“If he needs you, lovely Sypha, then what are you doing here? Demonstrating hot yoga to me?” 

“I can’t leave him all alone, okay? He’s old and has no one—”

“—No one but his _harem_ of followers. Sypha, your grandfather is very much self-sufficient. He’s got his employees and all the assistance he needs. You literally faff around in the hotels and splurge on outfits you never intend on wearing. Might as well get a boyfriend and empty his pockets.”

“Would you please—? Oh, you’re the most annoying—” Sypha threw her comforter over her head and furrowed her brows. 

“Think about it. You’re only trying to convince yourself, Sypha. Aye, I don’t know diddly squat about experiencing love firsthand but I know you’ve been in love with this brunet—”

“—Blond.” 

“ _—Redhead_ for a while.” Carmilla gritted her teeth at the former. “He’s not going to wait for you, not when you’re giving him so many mixed signals. Just grow a pair of proverbial bollocks before he gets swept away. With a face like that, he’d probably have a queue of idiots lining outside his house, ya ken?”

“I… I try to stay away from him, so these bloody feelings don’t resurface. With him, even the slightest possibility gives me hope.” Sypha had strange, foggy visions—dreams, really—of being all _cutesy_ and _disgusting_ with Alucard. She wanted the whole package: extravagant bouquets of freshly-plucked tulips and daisies, cuddling on the weekends, baking desserts together and wearing that obnoxious jewellery tailor-made for couples. She longed for that kind of love. (Don’t ask her about this because she would vehemently deny these err, baseless claims.) “I am just scared that one day, I’ll end up saying something stupid and everything will come down, _crashing_ and we won’t be talking to each other for the rest of our lives.” 

Carmilla popped her mouth open and re-applied her smeared lipstick, with a swipe of her fingers, she forced the pigment inside the boundaries. “You’ll get hurt, either way, Sypha,” She proceeded to put on her stockings, brush her translucent locks and sneer at the brat before her. “I think you should give him a chance. Stop overthinking it. I’ve seen you read erotica and stare off into the walls, imagining it were you and Alucard instead.”

“You’re right. I should… Call him first. I’ve been avoiding his messages since I reached.”

“There’s no point for you to stay in Amsterdam for two weeks, you’re wasting your time.” A ping of Carmilla’s phone diverted her attention and she immediately heaved herself from the mattress. “I have to leave,”

“What’s wrong? I thought we’d watch that millionaire detective anime we talked about,”

“You know my younger sister?”

“Lenny? Yeah.” 

“She killed the pigeon making a nest in our balcony and threw the eggs at the pedestrians on the fucking street.” Sighed a distressed Carmilla. 

“What the hell? Isn’t she thirteen?”

“Thirteen-year-olds are the meanest people in the world, Sypha, I told you to watch some John Mulaney. I can’t talk to you if you can’t get 90% of my references.” She kissed her cheek and bombed out of the room. “A loue ye! Buh-bye!”

“Toodles!” Sypha punched Alucard's digits on her phone but her fingers ghosted over the screen. _Should I hit call? Should I tell him that I am hopelessly in love with him? Should I—_

“Sypha?” Called out her grandfather, “ _Chiquita,_ we need to talk.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“Should I be scared, Belmont?” Asked Alucard as he scanned his surroundings: typical winter mist surrounded the Belmont Estate. It was a monument sprawled over a hilly, rocky terrain covered with columns of canopies. 

Pre-Hanukkah decorations embellished the entrance of the estate and added a splash of colour to the otherwise sepia/greyish-tones that merged with the dark, earth-coloured hues of the greenery. Trevor parked his Audi outside the entrance, alongside a Mustang lodged in the circular driveway. 

“Oh yes, Țepeș. Brace yourself, my mother must be loading her rifle at this very moment.” Trevor Belmont flatly replied and stepped out of his car. “I hope you’ve got a bulletproof vest along?” 

“Ha, ha. Very hilarious indeed.” Alucard slightly bristled at his tone but shrugged it off. From the corner of his eye, Trevor caught a cold, quivering and red-stained Alucard blowing into his palms. His hands were built for gentle caresses, tender massages through his mousey-brown, dishevelled hair—pallid, sylphlike, slightly crooked, with seemingly soft pads and loads of rings. Trevor cast a dismal glance at his hands. They were rough, blotched and scratched at various spots, courtesy of Sophie Belmont.

He grunted. _Snap out of it._

“Our goal is to avoid my mother at all costs, alright? Just take the pictures and run. Like I’ve said before, she’s got a loose screw—”

“—Look who decided to show up.” Sonia Belmont opened the door and Trevor instantly zipped up his overflowing mouth. “It’s Chanukah in a week and you’ve finally decided to grace this land with your godly presence, Trevor Belmont.”

“That’s a nice way of greeting your only son, Sonia. Now, would you be kind enough to invite me and my _friend_ inside?” 

Alucard’s breath hitched in his throat for a hot minute when he realised that _he_ was the one being addressed as the ‘friend’. He swapped looks of perplexity with Trevor and tucked a lock of gold behind his ear. Through the eyes of a passive onlooker, it was a simple gesture, but Trevor could feel his cheeks burn. “Good afternoon, Mrs Belmont. I’m—”

“Țepeș. Adrian Țepeș. Vlad Dracula’s son?” She answered for him, her face was deprived of expression. He could easily determine the apprehension that was building within Alucard’s shoulders, he tensed a little at the name—the association, perhaps. He assumed it was a sore subject. 

He fumbled with his words before stammering a “Yes,”

“Come on in.” 

This house, these grounds—this property—was his only home, in the world, it seemed. Trevor’s hands grazed over the intricately-designed, moss-green walls, where he would doodle animals with his crayons; then was the kitchen where his mother would chase him around with a spoonful of gnocchi in her hand. The stables outside once sheltered stallions—he recalled the stable-master, Jacques, teaching him horseback-riding, and throwing around hay at the stablemates. 

This _was_ his home. 

“May I?” Alucard asked politely. Trevor could point out the illumination colouring his eyes, he was thrilled at the sight of these portraits, and the capricious curiously of his was bugging him to explore these uncharted territories. 

“Go ballistic. Steal a painting or few, sell it to a pawn shop, this is all just a bunch of rubbish.” Trevor loudly announced, making Sonia Belmont pucker her lips in exasperation. He enjoyed pulling at her nerves, taunting her and making her flare in the nostrils—it was his only method of expressing love to her, after all. 

As Alucard wandered around the estate, clicking pictures of the framed photographs and majestic portraits, Sonia Belmont cornered her son. “I thought you were coming alone?”

“And willingly throw myself into your clutches? Ma, I’m not an idiot.” She smacked his arm, a stinging pain jolted through the limb and Trevor withdrew it. “Ow, woman!”

“Answer my question.” 

“You wanted to talk about the portrait, right? That’s why I got him. He’s a painter and I asked him to paint us one, what’s the big deal?” 

“That’s not what I called you for!” Sonia darted her eyes at Trevor. He would’ve generally gotten away with a ‘ _mom, your wrinkles are getting too prominent_ ’ but she appeared to be in a terrible mood. He hoped that had nothing to do with Alucard. “The portrait business can wait. I’m here to tell you about this girl I’ve chosen for you.”

Trevor broke into a peal of thunderous laughter. He gripped the roots of his hickory-coloured hair and bared his teeth at his mother. “What the fuck?”

“You are twenty-six, Trevor. When I was twenty-six, you were already seven. I want grandchildren adding some joy to this household and I want them this instant!” Sonia stomped her foot like a petulant child demanding his parents for a new set of stuffed toys. This version of his mother was pathetic, and it made him sputter. 

“Then adopt them!” He suggested. “I bet hundreds of orphans want to live in this giant mansion and play with all those trashy vases that you impulsively bought from Amazon!” 

Trevor had conjured a thoroughly prepared, well-detailed plan a few years ago; he’d been participating in international tournaments just to collect enough cash for the execution of this plan. He’d retire in his mid-thirties, backpack around with his mates and buy himself a sweet house in Munich. Why Munich, you ask? So he could pass out after drowning himself in barrels of beer available at the Oktoberfest. That was _his_ ideal life.

Not getting married and changing the diapers of several mini-Belmonts. Nope. The thought—single-handedly—made him want to dig a grave next to his father’s. 

“You’ve lost your right to say in this matter. The girl is sweet, spontaneous and a perfect match for your boring self. Her grandfather made me believe in happiness even after your father died—”

“—really? That good a fuck, huh?” This time Sonia pulled his earlobe and twisted it with all her might. 

“What did you say?”

“Nothing! I didn’t say shite. Leave me alone!” He yelled in a subdued voice as she let him go. The sheer terror encased in her similar, penetrating and arctic irises leaked forth—Trevor Belmont knew he was fucked. “Mr Belnades is a renowned spiritual guru who teaches meditation and how to tap into your inner zen. He’s a good man. I’m sure his granddaughter will be nothing but an absolute sweetheart. Unless you have a better explanation, I’m not letting you get out of this one.”

Trevor threaded a hand through his unkempt hair and swept his eyes across the hall. He needed a day— _nay,_ months—to process this knowledge. But right now, he wanted to sit—

Trevor’s gaze found Alucard. His pupils enlarged. His mouth separated in realisation. _Perfect!_

“Well…” He uttered, hands planted over his hips. “Mom. I don’t want to get married because I’m seeing someone at the moment. I can’t just—”

Trevor could see Sonia’s delight rise, and instantly simmer down in a second. “ _Dating_? Who?!” 

Trevor swivelled on his heels and pointed at Alucard. “Him.”

* * *

  
  
  
  


The Belmont Estate and Țepeș Manor seemed to be equally eerie from the interiors. Except, the Belmonts’ had been kind enough to arrange some festive decorations. Blue-coloured silks and blanched ribbons were tied around the staircase and the candles for Hanukkah waiting to be lit. Alucard could pick up the scent of applesauce being made in the kitchen before he became distracted with the lavish collection of portraits hanging on the walls. 

But something even more captive than the rich historical artworks seemed to hold him hostage. _Trevor Belmont._ He appeared stressed—even from a distance. He was engaged in some pettifog with his mother and Alucard almost— _almost—_ felt sorry for him. 

He chewed the end of his pencil as he stared at his companion, thinking of ways to rescue him. _No, wait, why should I?_ He wasn’t indebted to him! But those shoulders seemed so stiff… Like Trevor Belmont carried all the burden of the world. They could certainly use a relieving massage. He couldn’t help but sigh. He mentally scribbled some dialogues for a pep-talk to cheer him up afterwards. _Or should I not?_ If he were being honest, he did _not_ know how to act around Trevor Belmont. Should he be gentler? Or keep his façade of unfeeling in place? Should he be snarky to put up with his ruggedness or extremely professional? This was driving him insane.

The day at his apartment had been markedly different. Alucard had been feeling rather shy, he’d been unsure of a proper way to thank him and most importantly, he couldn’t register Belmont’s generosity. He still hadn’t returned his shirt—nor had he informed him about how he’d spritzed his cologne over himself—and complimented his subpar cooking skills. The whole morning had been a catastrophe.

He snapped out of his reverie and adjusted his collar as Alucard caught the Belmont approaching him, along with his mother who was practically levitating, judging from the lethal speed of her footsteps.

“Mom, slow down, you’ll break all of your bones. I’m sure dad doesn’t need you pestering him in the afterlife as well.” Alucard suppressed a maniacal cackle. Trevor mumbled something in Hebrew and curled his lips into a condescending sneer. Who knew that the boasting, insufferable Belmont heir would reduce to a pile of rubble in front of his mother? It was too funny—Alucard was having a tough time containing his laughter, too!

“All right, mate?”

“Alucard, love, I’m sorry, I had to tell mom about _us_ .” Us? Alucard raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow at his absurdity. _What was going on about?_ Then he noticed Belmont mouthing something indecipherable. _Go with the hoe? Is he calling his mother a!—what gibberish—_

_Go with the flow._ Huh?

“Is it true, Mr Țepeș? Are you two involved in a relationship?” The question came crashing down on him. As if Sonia Belmont had dropped a missile on him; it was like someone took the highly-talked about archive of texts—the Belmont Hold—right on top of him! He could sense mild nausea, a flurry of memories starring Sypha Belnades, a rush of adrenaline, the meme of woman fenced-in tedious calculations— _what should he say?!_

A warm hand entwined with his. The heat of the palm reminded him of Sypha. Alucard dropped his gaze and noticed Trevor’s callous hand holding his trembling fingers in place. “Mom, can you be a little less… Extreme? You gave him a heart attack!” 

“Oh, no, no, I’m completely fine.” The pink stains on Alucard’s cheeks spread further as The Belmont Bastard brought his knuckles to his lips, pressing a saccharine kiss on the blanched skin. Given that his hands were in his custody, Alucard couldn’t even hide the rosiness searing across his cheeks, a mile-a-minute—this was humiliating, he was merely a puddle of wax between the legs and oh! The tips of his ears! They were hot, scorching, ablaze with—

“You sure, _mon ange_?” Asked Belmont in his thick, French accent. 

“Mhmm,” He gulped. Alucard’s misty thoughts cleared up, leaving a path that seemed to lead to nowhere. “So, uh, you told her?”

“I did, love, I know, we should’ve talked first.” His eyes spoke volumes. Belmont was _begging_ him to somehow salvage him out of this blunder.

“No, err, it’s fine. It’s better if we, uh, don’t keep it a secret. Right?” Alucard now took his hand into a bone-crushing grip, and smirked at the crack of Trevor’s knuckles and his little growl. “Anyway, I’ve collected all the photos.”

“Lovely, we should leave then! Bye, mom!” Sonia’s shock rounded into something in Hebrew, eliciting a response from Trevor, and as their discussion faded into the background, Alucard could only think of one, singular coherent thought: _what the fuck have I gotten myself into?_

And also that Trevor Belmont—the high and mighty bastard of all—had a surprisingly soft mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Hanukkah, y'all! I hope y'all had a blast. Anyway, chile so... This was crap. My toilet's getting renovated so I decided to shite on my laptop's keyboard and voila! Here are the results. Like this chapter is bad, I completely agree and I am aware. This is Not My Best. In my defence, this is more of filler chapter? Because uh I can’t write Porn Without Plot. So here’s the trashy plot that, in no way, aligns with the summary, lol. Thanks for reading the clownery. In case y'all haven't noticed, Trevor is Jewish!!!! Yas!!! (I'm not Jewish myself so if anyone wants to drop in some suggestions, point out some errors, then feel free to do so!) And ahem, ahem, Carmilla x Sypha. Yep. Bet y'all didn't see THAT coming. Carmilla is Scottish, so today, we will learn Scottish 101!!! Yipee!!! 
> 
> Cannae - cannot  
> Eejit - idiot  
> Aye - yes  
> Ya ken? - 'Understood?' in a rhetorical tone  
> A loue ye! - I love you!
> 
> Additional terms used -  
> Mon ange (French) - my angel  
> Chiquita (Spanish) - term of endearment, like, it literally means 'small'
> 
> Ok so next chapter will be up by uhhhh 3rd? or 4th? Y’all gonna see some Needy!Alucard hehe. This shite is off the rails, baby!!!!! I got that shite planned y’all. Pls leave a fucking review alright?


	4. Quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yah!” Alucard looked the other way, blushing behind the curtain of his hands, “In your dreams!”
> 
> “Yours or mine?” Their conversation, which was headed southward was cut short at the emergence of the server. Alucard didn’t bother fighting over the payment, he passed on the receipt to the gruff-looking man in front of him and threw the sweetest, sincerely deceptive smile at him.

“If you think buying me the best slice of cheesecake in the whole of Paris will somehow salvage you out of this, you’re dead wrong.” Said Alucard as he stabbed the pastry with a fork. 

“Well, I tried.” Trevor Belmont sighed in defeat, “I know I put you in a bit of a situation but—”

“A _bit?_ ” Alucard looked at Trevor as if he’d gone mental. Vlad Dracula Țepeș had been calm when his son wore blatantly androgynous clothing, he’d kept his cool even when he caught him hooking up with another lad, he’d even let him play KAI in his car, but being involved with a… _Belmont_? A big no-no. Hard pass. Cheapest ticket to the afterlife. Or Hell. “This is, in no way, a romance novel centred around a fake dating trope! I hope you’re aware of that!” 

He stuffed a gigantic piece of the cake with grace, and carded a hand through his hair. After giving Trevor Belmont a cold shoulder during their drive back to this, _patisserie,_ and mumbling to himself, nearly banging his head against the dashboard because he was not wearing his fucking seatbelt (blame it on Belmont’s rash driving, too), Alucard had become a complete, utter _mess._ And he wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it until his whole life came to an end. 

“I am, and I’m also terribly sorry that I have to put you through this but my mother is just the biggest fucking—”

“—We don’t even know each other, Trevor Belmont. All I know is that your family is a clan of boorish idiots! No offence,”

“None taken. I disrespectfully agree, actually.” 

The waiter brought in a plate of freshly prepared _Plaisir Sucré._ Alucard gasped. “I cannot _believe_ that you bought a shoddy slice of cheesecake for me but this absolute perfection for yourself! You are a tart.” Trevor scuffled a laugh at his companion’s unintentional pun, and curtly nodded at the waiter in gratitude. 

“You were the one who insisted on choosing for yourself and stressed on how much you don’t want _me_ to make decisions for you. I had recommended you some lovely options.” Alucard’s lips reduced into a pout and Trevor couldn’t help but notice them curve into the haughtiest, little pout he’d seen. _A mouth like that… Deserves a lot of loving kisses._ “Next time, let me guide you through Paris. I’ve lived here for a long time.” 

Grouching, Alucard took a bite of his lousy cake and stared off into the distance. Slight dew covered the windows of _Pierre Hermé,_ a luxurious patisserie located in the 1st arrondissement. It had an extravagant array of macaroons, tarts and pastries yet! _Yet!_ Alucard, a man of the finest taste, had opted for a cheesecake with a layer of passion-fruit and orange purée on the top. It nearly pierced a hole in his heart as he watched Trevor scroll through his phone and take revoltingly large bites of his exquisite _dacquoise,_ dressed with chocolate and hazelnuts. 

At Trevor’s sudden look, Alucard retreated his gaze, acting as if nothing had happened and he hadn’t caught him in the act. “You can stop giving me the side-eye. Let me order a slice of this for you, alright?”

“No, not needed. I’m not supposed to go overboard with sugar, anyway. This slice was sweet enough as it is.” Alucard stomped his foot lightly as Trevor didn’t bother to push forward and shrugged off his refusal in one go. _How rude!_ He had lagged behind severely in the department of mannerisms, he noted, Trevor was certainly a Belmont, by brawn and the brains, too. Funnily enough, Alucard had thought he might be a little different. What a waste of space, he was! 

“As for… Not knowing each other, we can do a little homework.” 

“I don’t want to know you, I’m certain it wouldn’t be the most rewarding _or_ exciting experience.” Trevor rolled his eyes at his remark. 

“Alright, then let me know you? The Wikipedia page hardly does any justice.” 

“Are you deliberately _confessing_ to stalking me? I swear to god if you’ve jacked off to any of my interviews— _mhm!_ ”

“—Would it kill you to be less crass?” Trevor shoved a piece of his pastry inside Alucard’s mouth and smiled at the couple sitting closely to them, praying that they didn’t overhear too much of their conversation. “Something tells me our roles are switched in this universe.”

Knowing that it was inelegant to speak with a mouthful, Alucard quietly enjoyed the chocolate ganache melt into his mouth. Swallowing, he continued, “I apologise, I shouldn’t have acted so… Vulgarly in front of an audience. Don’t mind me,”

“It’s alright.” Trevor wiped his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat. _When did I become such a brat?_ Alucard wondered. 

“Can I have another bite?” Alucard blurted out and crossed his legs in discomfort. Trevor Belmont was surely a waste of space, but he was gorgeous at that. Plus! Alucard was a sucker for distinct, boasting shoulders and this, stupid, perfectly-shaved… Undercut that Trevor sported. 

“This is the last piece but… Oh, well, I owe it to you,” Absentmindedly, Trevor brought the spoonful of the dessert to him and in equal absenteeism of rational thinking, Alucard let him feed the contents to him. _Am I doing this for his attention?_ His mouth was agape for a second before he covered it with his hands, what was this sudden shift in him? Was Sypha’s absence too profound? Good grief! He would rather munch on his grandmother’s sour kimchi than sit through this—it was plain humiliating! His ears were red, his heart was _pumping,_ a twitch in his—

“Tell me… Uhm, about yourself?”

“Mhm, curiosity killed the cat?” Trevor’s cheekiness just… _Oh, god,_ it brought back his faith in religion. Out of all the distractions in this world, Alucard was presented with the most handsome one—who made his thighs clench. _With all the ambiguity Sypha has left me in… I’m officially losing all sense of the world._

“Forget I asked.” 

“ _Mon dieu…_ You and your tantrums never cease to baffle me.” He scoffed, “I suppose this is the part where I ask you about your details.”

“Finally, something worthy of discussion.” Alucard’s eyes lit up as he fanned himself with just the right amount of his theatrical _flair_! He was a man constructed for the arts; he had a panache in each aspect of it, after all! “So, I’m Romanian from my father’s side and Korean from my mum’s, but I’ve lived in London and briefly in Huncote, hence the accent. But! I am fluent in both of my native languages. I’m learning pottery at the moment and calligraphy has always been one of my strongest suits. I can also sense the presence of roaches from a mile away. I’m sensitive to bugs, I need to be vigilant at all times.”

“You surely do enjoy talking about yourself.” Trevor heaved a long sigh, digesting all the minutiae provided to him. _Fuck! I forgot to tell him about the gouache paints I ordered online—no wait, that’s a little too much_. “Well… Both of my parents are French, I attended Eton as a teenager and I’m a professional polo player. That’s pretty much it.” 

Although Alucard didn’t persist in _displaying_ it, he wanted to know Trevor’s favourite medium of paint, did he prefer untucked shirts over tucked ones? Did he like _nihonshu_ or _soju_? What was that one destination he’d impulsively purchase the tickets for? If he got another cat, what would he name it? Did he get that peculiar brain-freeze from wasabi or not? How many languages did he speak? Was he into men or he— 

“So… You ride horses?” _That sounds wrong on so many different levels, I can’t even fathom._ “For money?”

“You lube up canvases with paint?” Trevor retorted at Alucard’s unmeant condescending tone, “To prove to your father that you can live without his credit card information?”

“That was uncalled for!” Alucard launched his napkin at him, stiffening at his comment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was not thinking. I am malfunctioning, it seems; you’ve dragged me into such a predicament, I cannot help but!” 

“Don’t worry, I was just messing with you.” Trevor smiled and Alucard felt a slight buzz in his stomach. A tingle. A similar ache was felt by him a month ago, when he had fallen into a patch of grass while kissing Sypha in the _Jardin du Tuileries,_ and they’d sputtered out, giggling like idiots in love. 

Apparently, only one of them had been an idiot in love. 

But Trevor smiling was different. Sypha’s grins were more carefree, less… Hesitant. He smiled with caution, dimples barely crinkling as he did so. 

“I’ll pay you extra if you keep up with this, at the Hanukkah party, I’ll call it quits and we can go on separate paths.” 

“I’m not a showpiece waiting to be bought, Belmont. Your debt can’t be cashed out in money, you’ll have to reward me with something else.” 

Trevor leaned forward and fastened his finger between his teeth. A tilt of his head, a subtle smirk and the heaviness of his eyes—Alucard couldn’t stand it! He wanted to slam his fists on the table, throw the glass of water on his face, so he can be all wet, transparent through his shirt, and _oh!_ His hangover had chosen to linger, it seemed! “Oh? Like what?”

His subtle smirk lost its subtlety, it was dirtier, hinting at things that could never transpire between them, and full of this, _this_ moxie Alucard had only seen in Sypha because she was a little minx. 

“Yah!” Alucard looked the other way, blushing behind the curtain of his hands, “In your dreams!”

“Yours or mine?” Their conversation, which was headed southward was cut short at the emergence of the server. Alucard didn’t bother fighting over the payment, he passed on the receipt to the gruff-looking man in front of him and threw the sweetest, sincerely deceptive smile at him. 

_Mine._ A small voice in his head whispered but was interrupted by a loud ringing that came from his phone. It was Sypha. “I have to take this,”

“Sure, go ahead and faff around while I take care of your expenditures,” He heard Trevor mumble but paid no mind. ‘ _Expenditures,_ ’—what an _arsehole—_ he wasn’t the one who bought the most rifty piece of flour in the shop! If anything, Belmont was a damned hypocrite!

He took the call in an instant—heart throbbing, palms sweating, cheeks aching at the strength of his grin, “Sypha?”

“Hi, Adrian, how are you?” _Oh, the love of my life,_ he sighed. The tinge of melancholy in her tone was missed by him, he was submerged in her saccharine voice, after all. It felt like he was talking to her after centuries. “I miss you,” 

“I miss you, too, Sypha.” It was always, _missing,_ but never reconciling. He would only meet her again to say goodbye. “I’ve been doing well, what about you?”

“Just fine.” He swung the door of the patisserie, and shuffled his parka, shoving his hands in the pockets. Her response made him slightly concerned, “I’ll be home soon, though, so, uhm, yep. I just wanted to hear your voice.” 

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Not really—I mean, _yes—_ but I’ll explain in person. Or later. Right now, I just want to feel close to you.” The cold breeze hit him as he walked towards Trevor’s Audi, but Sypha’s words, no matter the medium they were being conveyed through, engulfed him in warmth. “I know I’ve been a little weird lately, but I just needed time to figure things out and I feel like I should let you know that…”

Worried that she hung up, Alucard brought his phone closer to his mouth, “Yes?”

“Adrian—Alucard, I, I, _god,_ I sound pathetic, I am hopelessly—”

“—Hey, watch out!” Alucard was ambushed for a second before he hit Trevor’s chest and noticed that he dodged a truck that had been heading his way. “Have you gone mental? Walking on the road without a care in the world? You would’ve gotten hit, you bloody idiot!” 

Although the phone remained secure in his grip, Alucard couldn’t bring it back to his ear. Trevor held his arms, protectively, shielding him from the Parisian traffic that packed the roads. Normally, he would’ve spat ‘ _scared you’d have to deal with my hospital expenditures, now, Belmont?_ ’ or ‘ _my lifeless corpse would’ve been a feast for your eyes, no?_ ’ but he was rendered speechless. Perhaps it was the shock of it all. He looked into Trevor’s earnest, blue-coloured eyes that bored into him, scanning for any possible injuries, _am I holding my breath? I—_ Alucard sucked in his breath and let the phone go, which blared with Sypha calling out his name.

“You,” He managed, “ _You…_ Thank you,” Trevor released his arms only to have them positioned over his chest. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” Alucard’s nose nuzzled into his shoulder, but Trevor was _glued,_ uncertain whether he should hold him or not. “I’m fine.”

“Not even a scratch?”

“Not really,” 

“Sure?”

“Positive. Don’t worry, otherwise your mum would think my carelessness gave her son wrinkles.” He bent, picked up his phone and before he could return on the call, Sypha cancelled it from her end. His fingers hovered over the screen, punching in her digits but Trevor cut him off. 

“Call your little girlfriend later, I got you the _Plaisir Sucré_ and these _Ispahan macarons,_ they’re made of rose, strawberries and litchis. Give ‘em a go, I think you’ll like them.” He rubbed the nape of his neck and forced the pack of sweets into Alucard’s chest, avoiding his eyes of scrutiny. 

They headed homeward next, unbeknownst to Sypha’s own heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol. Remember when I said I’d post on 3rd or 4th? Yeah, that was a lie. I was busy wallowing in self pity and thinking about how I should abandon this because tbh, a lot of these scenes could’ve fit better in my original novel but eh. Don’t expect a schedule out of me because a) this is my last year of school and b) I have a life outside of you know, fandoms, (lol I’m just kidding, this ‘life’ I brag about is saving thousands of pictures of Jackson Wang on my phone until the storage becomes full) no but seriously, I do have a life. Anyway, did y’all EXPECT? Alucard, mixed, Korean-Romanian? Neither did I. Lol, I did. Listen, I’ve been in this train of Anime, K-pop and K-drama (Chinese and Thai, too) for a while. I’m Asian, too, by the way, so I’ve been here since a long, long, LONG time. The moment I saw Hyunjin from Stray Kids, I just knew this is Alucard. This is the same energy, if not bodily structure, that he radiates with. Delicate but a little, edgy, you know what I mean? I felt like removing the Romanian ancestry would be too rebellious so I took a different path, and I do not regret it at all. 
> 
> So, yeah. Don’t worry, this isn’t all sad and shite, I’m a funny Asian gal, I like crackin’ jokes, even though they might not be funny, so this is just a heap of bad attempts at jesting, tbh. Anyway, here’s the glossary, you’ll be finding more variety in languages whenever I decided to update (which I have no idea about):
> 
> Patisserie - Pastry shop but ✨French✨
> 
> Pierre Hermé - French dude, makes pastries for a living, has a bunch of high-end patisseries around the globe, sells them for 500$
> 
> Plaisir Sucré - It’s just lot of gooey chocolate sandwiched between wafers and hazelnuts, costs a lot, but it’s actually the best thing you’ll eat 
> 
> Dacquoise - Desserts made from meringue
> 
> Nihonshu - Japanese alcoholic beverage, kids
> 
> Soju - Korean tequila, BIRCHES


End file.
